Simply Sublime
by SugarRAy
Summary: Ok, so maybe going after Matt Miller nearly blackout drunk and on my own wasn't the best idea. But out of all the shitty out comes I expected, waking up in his bed was not one of them. And what resulted from it? Well, that was even worse. - First chap. is really just details you need to know, plus a short preface. - Romance is sort of slow coming -
1. Preface

**_Note: Mind spelling mistakes and this is mostly things you need to know, as they are quite relevant to the entirety of this story._** _**I am hoping to go a little farther than just a few chapters with this so please, review. I know not everyone can but try, please? If you like this you have to let me know otherwise I toss it due to lack of motivation.**_

_**Basically this came from many places - songs, instances in-game, this dream I had - but mostly from my fondness over the video game specimen that is Matt Miller. This will play through Saints Row 3 & 4 seeing as I am trying to write and play at the same time. I won't bore you and if I do, tell me. **_

_**Setting : Plenty of internet searching, common sense and a little help from Jimmy (you know, from The Trouble With Clones DLC) I have concluded that the entirety of Saints Row: 3 took place in 6 to 8 months, add in the DLC's of course. I presume we learn of Matt Miller around the second month so...ya know.**_

_**Long fucking note.**_

_**Warning(s): Seeing as this IS Saints Row, there is some pretty gnarly shit in here but no angst. Well, maybe a little but I won't overload you. I mean, everyone but Matt is a fucking adult, ya know.**_

_**Anyway, sorry for all this but I felt it needed to be established.**_

_SUBLIME_

Ok, so maybe going after Matt Miller on my own was a horrible idea, my worst yet. But what else was I supposed to do at one in the morning, piss drunk and sitting on the knowledge of his exact location?

He was right down the road from Zimos' place.

79 Broxton St., sequestered in his underground parking garage-turned bedroom and home control center. A mole was so easy to plant in his netwkork and Kirsten played her part so perfectly. I think she might've had a crush on him, seeing as she resigned the moment I nearly creamed at her information. So close. A message to the Syndicate. What kind of message? I wasn't quite sure seeing as I was already pretty buzzed off of the scotch I ordered. Maybe the message was that I could even get to their most hidden member, the one that never was out in the open.

Of course, that message was lost the moment I approached the building, standing at the mouth of the garage door, watching it slowly open with the stolen passcode. I don't remember much, just the stunned look on his face, Nyteblade playing on the biggest fucking television I had ever seen.

And hands.

Lots of movement with hands. Who's, again I don't remember. Did I pull the trigger? Did I punch him? Probably, I remember him saying he liked something I did.

But who knows because the next thing I knew it, I was lying in his bed, on the verge of puking and scrambling for my phone that was on the ground. I had my pants on, my blue and black flannel lost somewhere in the tangle of sheets.

I called Zimos, swore him to secrecy and just...tried so fucking hard to forget.

But God apparently thinks he's a fucking comedian because he decided to let it all blow up in mine and the crews face. And Matt's...let's not forget that little fucker.


	2. Black Box

_**Please remember to review.**_

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><p>"God dammit," I hissed, fingers curling around the edge of the cushion I was seated on.<p>

Angel looked up at me from under that heavy brow and he raised his left eyebrow. I scowled and he actually chuckled, continuing to wipe away the blood from my right leg. That just made me want to punch him even more.

He could have at least warned me, gave me a heads up, that I would be driving around a tiger. A fucking tiger. A fucking tiger that was watching js closely with almost kitten-like curiosity.

And to think, I used to like cats.

"Training," Angel repeated for the up-teenth time.

"A _fucking tiger_," I growled.

"Don't lose the message in the method."

I just rolled my eyes and shifted my hands back a little more, cringing as he wiped away blood from a particularly gnarly scratch. The beast hadn't gotten me that bad, it was obviously trained for small wounds (though what counts as small to me is questionable to most). Still, it could have done alot fucking worse.

"Thanks for helping me with my leg, I muttered, watching his hands tape off the gauze, suddenly feeling sheepish.

He paused in rolling down my pants leg, looked up at me, full faced. I smiled a little and he opened his mouth to speak. And then my phone decided to go off. We stared at each other for a minute and then I sighed, pushing myself forward to get my phone from the back holder on my black chaps.

"Hey Zimos," I muttered, watching Angel stalk towards that blasted tiger.

"You called," auto-tune sounds terrible through the phone.

"Yeah, I was -"

"Why don't ya head on ova."

I sighed, standing on shaky legs. I grabbed my heels from where Angel had set them and paused in the middle of the casino floor. "Sure," I hung up before he could and waved back at Angel as I headed for the door. "I'll catch you later, Angel."

He didn't even look up, didn't wave back at me. Just kept his eyes down. And that irked me for some reason. But I brushed it off, hopped in my car and set my GPS for Zimos' crib.

I shouldn't be bothered by Angel acting like that, all aloof and shit but dammit he was cute. I wanted to talk to Shaundi about it but she was so fucking angry right now. She was no help (of course I couldn't tell her that). You'd think killing that fuck Loren would have at least curbed her but Killbane fucked up Johnny's funeral just as she was coming down. The most infuriating thing about that big fucker was that he didn't realize (care) that I was now stuck with a perpetually angry Shaundi. I could handle a fucked funeral but her stomping around the penthouse was too much.

I raised an eyebrow as I stepped out of my car, eyeing the scuffed bubbles against a backdrop of purple. Carwash? Yeah, sure.

I reached for the door handle, gasping and curling my arm back as pain shot up from my gut to my shoulder. It wasn't a high level of pain, but it was enough for me to be cautious as I flexed my arm. I was so going to get Angel back for that tiger shit.

I shook my head, flexing my arm again as I opened the door. Two flights of stairs (accompanied by the smell of motor oil and a few garbage bags) later and I was biting my tongue at the decor. Bright colors and shag everywhere. Fur In My Cap played lowly through speakers running over the ceiling; I refrained from touching the blow up giraffe as I rounded the corner into the living room.

"Hey Zimos -"

"Ssh," he hissed. "Don't wake the bitches."

I smirked as he pat the head of a half naked blonde to his right; I shook my head at the girl dressed as an Angel he was leaning back on. This wasn't the first time I had walked in on the exact same (well, not the same. Different bitches.) scene and I had an odd twinge of deja vu go through my gut to accompany the dull pain radiating from somewhere in my pelvis.

"Keep em busy, don't cha," I chuckled.

"Ain't no slackin in my carwash," he seemed to grin before brushing his thumb against his right nostril and inhaling sharply (not to mention noisily). "Had some of them Deckers drop some shit off here."

I tensed up, dropping my hands just to curl them into fists at my side. He pointed at the couch to my right and I reluctantly looked, seeing a small black box sitting on one of the cusions. It was more plain than I expected from him. I picked it up, hands shaky.

"Think it's a bomb," I muttered, shaking it near my ear.

"If so, you're not helpin it."

"Right," I groaned slumping down onto the couch.

I glared at the box in my lap, my fingers pressing into the flimsy cardboard. It wasn't even taped up. I pulled back the flaps, my breath strangely hitching as my fingers brushed over the soft fabric of my black and blue flannel. I reached in, lifting it with both hands and almost tried to smother myself with it.

It smelt like him.

I opened my eyes, though I don't remember closing them, and reach for the envelope in the bottom of the box. I dropped the shirt back into the box and open the envelope, reading sloppy handwriting; you'd think a 'genius' like him would have better handwriting.

"He said he's sorry," my brow furrows; a tiny voice in the back of my head says I should be the one apologizing, though I don't understand why.

Zimos snorts and I want to do the same, but all that happens is my lips twitch in the corners and I vomit onto the cushion beside me, promptly waking the bitches and making me hold my queasy stomach.

"Zimos," I mutter and he's right there, ever faithful. "Call Pierce..."

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><p><strong><em>Chapter do get longer, I promise. I am just currently seperated from my computer. Hopefully it's only a temporary seperation. Please tell me what you think. <em>**


	3. Trembling

_**GuessWho: I'm happy you like it:) And the main pairing is Matt M./F!Boss with a little Angel/Boss until I get to them. Really, the most that happens with Angel is a long hug.**_

_**Note: Please ignore any spelling mistakes. And remember to Review!**_

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><p>"I still say we take you to the hospital."<p>

I brush Shaundi's hand away from me, grunting as Angel tightens my back brace. No hospitals. I've already said it more than a dozen times (not counting the hundred or so times since Pierce brought me back from Zimos' crib last night). I stopped throwing up this morning. I don't have a fever (and I didn't the firsflt twenty times she checked). It just feels like Angel performed one of those wrestling moves on my back. From a twelve story building. What could that be? My kidneys? Maybe I do need to see a doctor. Just...no hospitals.

"Hey Boss," Pierce calls from the bar.

I flinched, holding my right side as I followed his voice into the room. "Hey, what's u -"

He has that fucking box in his lap.

And Zimos is staring at me, almost apologetically, over the rim of his glasses.

I would get him later, right now I was busy trying to hobble towards Pierce. As I reached for the box, Pierce jumped to his feet and maneuevered on around to the other side of the bar. I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of his stool. I glared through my bangs at him then lunged over the bar at him. He tossed my shirt at me, causing me to slump on the top of the bar. I pulled the shirt from my face, fingers tightening in the fabric of the flannel as he held the note (I should have burned) up to inspect.

"Sorry for not getting this back to you sooner and sorry for everything else...Miller."

I closed my eyes, pulling back from the counter and hanging my head. I heard the click of Shaundi's heels and the slow thump of Angels boots approach behind me and the dread only seemed to thicken. Why the fuck did he sign his name? I was going to kill that little bastard.

"Wait, Miller," Shaundi circled to stand in front of me and I forced my eyes open, seeing utter confusion creasing her face. "That little fuck working for the Syndicate?"

"Why did he have your shirt," dammit Pierce, why straight to the point?

I look up further, for the first time sheepish in anyone other than Angel's gaze. And Johnny's, why was I forgetting him so easily?

"I left it at his place."

The room fell silent for a beat.

"Why did you leave it at his place," Shaundi's voice was dangerously low.

I swallow, unsure even this deep in. No turning back, though I could spin some horrible lie but they would see through it. I turn to Angel unconciously, taking in hunched shoulders and a perfect-to-me face. My gut is twisting, chruning and I know I'm unnecessarily uneasy.

"I slept with him."

And Angel leaves. I almost cry, but bite my lip and look back to Pierce and Shaundi. Shaundi is pissed (when is she not?) and Pierce looks confused; Zimos knows everything already, he just nurses the beer bottle in his hand.

"You fucked him," Shaundi says very slowly.

"I was drunk."

"You fucked him."

I shake my head a little. "Shaundi, calm down. It's no big deal, really," I run a hand through my hair then regret it as a dull thump of pain radiates up my right side. "It's not like I fucked Killbane or anything."

Now, isn't that an image I could have went the rest of my life without.

"No big deal," she's stuck on my sudden nonchalance and I'm curious about it myself.

"It's not yet," we both look at Pierce and he has that serious look that scares me. "Did ya use a condom?"

I hate that word, condom. Ew.

I roll my eyes for some reason. "He was a virgin, Pierce. I don't think I got any diseases from him."

Pierce shakes his head. "You think of getting pregnant, genius?"

Shaundi looks more horrified than me and I watch her leave, too stunned to speak. No...no, that's impossible. I start to shake, Pierce is talking about going to the drug store, Zimos mentions the spare tests he keeps in his car (just in case, he says) and Shaundi is tearing something apart above our heads.

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><p>He didn't move.<p>

He was still in the same fucking underground garage.

He actually seems surprised to see me. Or maybe its the gun in my hand that had him all wide eyed.

He scrambled back in his rolling chair and it twists, forcing him to the ground. I kicked the chair out of my way, glaring at Matt as my fingers clench rythmically around the trigger of my small gun. I just wanted to shoot him. Nothing fatal. Just a flesh wound.

I grabbed at his ankle as he tried to scramble away. He flipped onto his back, bracing his hands in front of his face, pretty blue eyes looking for help.

Those pretty...pretty eyes...

_"A-Am I doing it right?"_

I shook my head, gun shaking in my hand; Pierce sighed behind me. "I'm gonna kill you."

His eyes actually grow bigger. Why?! Wh-What did I do? I sent the sh -"

"It's not about the shirt," I growl, feeling light headed. "I'm not supposed to have babies..."

My seemingly-disconnected whisper catches his attention and I can see the fear, the panic, the sickening understandin in those pretty eyes. I gasp and stumble back, he reaches for me, my gun hits the floor. I hold my head, feel Matt's gloves rub against the tender skin of my palm. I don't want him touching me. I don't want him sitting on the edge of his bed. I want nothing to do with him.

And then, his hand (which one, I don't know) finds its way under my shirt, flattens against my stomach, and I feel something. Oleg will tell me (over and over again) that it was too early to feel anything. But I know. I know it was something, inside me. Something alive.

And I start to cry, leaning into Matt's arms though I don't want to. And I would I would never, ever, admit that it brought me some kind of momentary peace.


	4. Story Time

_"There are still shards of shrapnel inside of you. We cannot remove them…if you make it to live another fifteen years or hell, even five, you will be a miracle."_

_I'm stabbing the doctor in the head._

_I'm screaming and slicing through his skull so easily, a scream ever-constant from my lungs. I wonder what Carlos is thinking, but he is far too silent behind me and I think I have my answer. When I look at him, I can see the horror reflected in his eyes, the blood taste coppery on my lips but I have grown far too used to the taste._

_It is second nature in me now._

_"So, when do we get the fuck out of here?"_

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><p>I'm pregnant.<p>

I'm a pregnant gang leader.

I'm a pregnant gang leader trying to run a multi-million dollar 'company' of sorts.

And the father is a sixteen year old hacker that is supposed to be my enemy.

And he is…far more excited than I thought he would be.

He doesn't say it, but his eyes are shining and I can't seem to bring myself to stop him from rubbing my belly. It feels weird, and not because his gloves are scratchy. He took those off a few moments ago and his hands have these calluses I wouldn't think he did. There's a small rough patch on the outer edge of his hand, a tough spot on the tip of his right middle finger…it's weird. My hands are filled with calluses. Holding guns, flamethrowers, bombs and other things constantly kind of does that to you.

And the pretty pistol on his thigh looks like it hasn't been touched…ever.

"Again, I must apologize."

I roll my eyes and finally tear him away from my skin, placing my hands safely across my stomach. I look over at Pierce and he's staring at several newspaper clippings tacked across a small board, like at Kinzie's. Was it a hacker thing?

"Oh fuck," I groan, rubbing my face.

Pierce looks over at me, raising an eyebrow. "Whaat?"

I breathe in and breathe out heavily, wanting to stand but…Matt is so warm…familiar. "What are we gonna tell Kinzie when I blow up like a balloon?"

"We tell her it's a loser at the bar," Pierce approaches me, brow furrowed so heavily. "And who's to say you're keeping it?"

I gape at him for a moment and want to look at Matt, but know it would make it seem like we are too on-the-same-team. "I say I'm keeping it," my voice is such a low whisper. "I…I'm not suppose to _have _babies, Pierce," I spit and finally stand up. "I…no matter what, if this is my only chance…I'm gonna take it."

"How are we supposed to finish the Syndicate if you're pregnant, Boss?"

"Hey!"

"Shut up, Matt," I growled. "You don't even need to question my ability to finish them even while burdened with this…I can do it. I've been blown up. I've been shot repeatedly. I've been lit on fire and so many other things. Pregnancy is nothing…I hope I didn't just jinx myself but…"

Pierce is staring at me, eyes slightly narrowed. Then he looks over at Matt, who I can feel tense up behind me. I look to him as well, remembering that he is the enemy. Or, he was. Now the decision is all up to him.

"What are you gonna do, boy," Pierce grumbles, that usually chipper mood blocked.

Matt stutters, wants to back up, can't because of the bed still there. He looks back and forth between us, a sheen of sweat over his forehead. When he looks at me for the final time, I can see him swallow and I don't want to accept the affection in there. Hey, I was his first fuck. I remember mine. Oh, Joshua. You were so cute, so dark in complexion, so tender. And also younger than me, though only by two years. I was eighteen. No slut here, though if I was, I would know how to not fucking get pregnant.

Fuckin hell.

"I…I cannot continue to try and kill you if you are pregnant…"

Pierce and I sigh, me slouching in on myself but then a sharp jolt of pain comes from my gut and my heart beats erratically in my chest. "Pain," I whisper, looking to the smartest person in the room: Matt. "There is…pain, in my stomach. What is it?"

His brow furrows, I want to smooth out the wrinkles. "I…I can do some research…"

I want to roll my eyes, go against it. "Thank you, Matt," I muttered, reaching out, ready to pat his shoulder.

But I think better of it, let my hand drop back to my side. It pisses me off, that I have anything to do with him. I mean, if I just wouldn't have gotten drunk, I would have never went after Matt alone. I wouldn't have gotten pregnant and I wouldn't be dealing with this.

I wrap my arms around my stomach, fingers digging into my hips. I feel sick.

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><p>Walking into Angel's gym gives me a mix of a sickness and warmth.<p>

The old air conditioner rumbles overhead, the layer of dirt on the old tiles streaks under my heels. I stop in front of the old ticket booth, eye the stale popcorn and the torn banner that announces the gym of the great Angel. I sigh and tighten my coat around me, still disgruntled about how he doesn't have working heat. I climb the stairs slowly, hearing his fists thumping against the punching bags.

Any other time, I would barrel in, limping from his previous 'training' and join him in a few sparring sessions. We would turn on really awesome Spanish – or whatever – music and just fight or talk or laugh or…just, be friends. One day, I was hoping it could be more but now, I know that light has been snuffed out. My heels click against the tiles, I round the corner, I see him in the middle of the boxing Matt. As I approach the side of the matt, I smile up at him, my eyes crinkled in concern.

He stares at me, chest heaving, eyes blank, and I want nothing more than to kiss him right now. But something is keeping my spontaneous and I-take-whatever-I-want side down, so I just feel like a piece of shit.

"What do you want," his voice growls.

I swallow. "I just…I felt like I needed to come talk to you about what happened."

"What happened," I could hear the low scoff in his voice. "Come to tell me about how you chose a sixteen year old kid over me?"

Well…I never expected _that _to come out. I expected him to fuck around but…nope…

I shook my head. "I was drunk, Angel," I ran a hand through my head. "And…it's not like you were initiating anything…"

I let that linger in the air then caught his eyes again. "I did not figure it would be best considering our current 'business' arrangement," he's taking the wrappings off of his hands. "I did not think it would be professional and I certainly thought I had more time than I was giving."

I swallow hard, wishing this would have all come out before hand. "Well…I want to say maybe we could have some kind of future after this is over but…I'm pregnant."

His eyes are hard, angry, and I feel so small. "Pregnant," it isn't a question, he says it slowly.

"Yes," I grumble. "I have been explaining this to most of my crew all day and even Shaundi calmed down," I crinkled my nose. "Maybe she was high, she called him cute."

Angel actually snorts, dropping his wraps onto on old rusty chair in the corner of his ring. "So, what do we do now? With the kid?"

I sigh (possibly for the millionth time in the past three days) and look up as he stands over me. "We've moved him into the parking garage of the penthouse. Well…he doesn't get the whole damn thing. I did cut him off. Feel like I already have a kid…his Deckers are taking it better than I thought they would though I'm sure this girl named Faith wants to kill me."

"Perhaps she has a fondness for your lover boy."

Did Angel really just say lover boy? I snort. "I'm sure she does, most of those girls in his group seem to make google eyes at him when he passes."

"And it upsets you."

A sharp intake of breath; I glare at him. "I am not jealous."

"I never said jealous."

"Channeling your inner Pierce, Angel? It's very unbecoming of you."

He rolls his eyes, hops off the mat. I smile at him again and he offers me a ride home. I refrain from telling him that I am perfectly capable of driving home myself. But he's Angel and I'm still crushing harder than a preteen girl. But even as Angel hugs me outside the Saints HQ, breaths into my air, suffocates me with his scent, Matt creeps into the back of my mind and…and I feel like rocking his world all over again.


End file.
